Fox's Glade to me, from the timbers,

that feminine giggle, the one that had no right tugging at long-dormant heartstrings, was enough for him. with a competitive smirk and a gleam in oaken eyes, dolce burst into a heavy gallop after his dove. she was unexpectedly quick; graceful, as always, as she cut through the snow she was born from. 

he was larger, heavier—but he churned through the powder with the grace of a bear, sending the snow to arch in streams behind him. "now that just ain't fair," he hollered after her, a boyish, wolffish grin gracing his usually pensive expression. he forced himself to run faster, faster than he had in years, just to catch up. 

much to his surprise, he gained ground quicker than expected. paws thundered against frozen earth, neck stretching out to gently grasp the tufts on her tail. gentle not to harm her, but forceful enough to slow her effortless stride. with a deep laugh, he charged forward, the spray of snow left to fall upon her like glitter. 

"might hafta play dirty, dove." he roused from over his shoulder, muscles coiling and relaxing with each long and heavy stride.